The Moulin Rouge
by Kitsune Ria
Summary: Based off of Baz Lurhman's movie, 'The Moulin Rouge', when Miroku, a penniless writer, stumbles upon love from the beautiful Sango, his world changes forever. But can she love him return when the Duke of Worcester arrives? Without acting? SanMir
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I don't own InuYasha or Moulin Rouge . . . even though I have been to Paris and saw Mont Martre where the Moulin Rouge resides . . . but I only saw it. Which sucks. And I also refuse to say anything on behalf of my friend, Caroline who may have Miroku shoved under her bed for experimental purposes . . .  
  
AN: Well, the above pretty much covered it. Sorry to all you Camp Shikon fans out there, but I'm discontinuing it for a little while . . . *dodges rocks* Hey! *arrows* I said I was sorry! *bricks* Forgive me! *catapults* . . . etc. . . . Anyway, I'm not sure if this story has already been done before, so I'm sorry to whoever that is. It just popped in my head. ^_^ And yes, this is Mir/San. After reading and seeing the book and movie, Moulin Rouge, I realized the main character, Christian, is nothing like InuYasha. True, Miroku's not too much different, but I decided it would be easier to work with. There will be Inu/Kag though, not a lot, but some.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
Prologue  
  
~*~  
  
~There was a boy . . .~  
  
The sky was coated with grayish mud clouds.  
  
~A very strange,~  
  
The small and no longer corrupt village of Mont Martre, lay hidden a top a hill of Paris. No longer corrupt, as it seemed, could not be taken so lightly. For the now drained, life-less, and some what hope-less people would have given anything to go back to the corrupt life they had had before.  
  
~Enchanted boy.~  
  
The streets, dark and gray as they were, could only be found empty. For all the real people of the village lay in the ally ways, slowly picking through garbage and waste, smoking until their last breaths took them to hell. Tired, they all were, for no light had ever seeped into the darkness of there village since that day.  
  
That day.  
  
~They say he wandered very far~  
  
A boy, five years old it would seem, though actually closer to ten, ran through the streets of the small town. Few marveled from their little positions next to dumpsters or cobblestones. Others just merely went back to their intoxicated states. The boy was slightly crying, but not intentionally. One woman glanced out from her ally ever so slowly, while her only 'ally-mate' shook her head furiously from behind. Her midnight black hair tumbling over her truly not-so-concerned gaze. She examined the boy as he tried to re-enter himself into any given darkness. But was soon blocked out by the village folk in each one he went to. His callus covered hands clutching his eyes as if they were searing with pain.  
  
The girl watched.  
  
~Very far~  
  
The boy came closer and closer to her ally.  
  
Still, her eyes never averted. She heard a faint plea from behind her, "Don't . . . sister . . . please . . ."  
  
The older sister paid no attention to her. The boy finally reached their ally, now tired and steaming with sweat, not having the words to ask politely to enter, but tried his way in anyway.  
  
The girl let him. She stood back and allowed his frail and soon to be sickly body enter their own little patch of hell.  
  
She faintly whispered to the boy. "What is it you want?"  
  
The boy continued to pant rapidly.  
  
~Over land and sea~  
  
The older sister sighed impatiently. "Tell me, boy, tell me now."  
  
The younger child in the back faintly whispered again. "Why . . . did you let . . . him in? Why . . . didn't you let . . . master take . . . care of it? Why, Kagura?"  
  
Kagura shut her eyes almost instantly at the sound of her name. She stood up fast, loosing her balance in a way, for everything she was used to, moved slowly.  
  
The boy just watched.  
  
"Our master is dead you little shit. Don't you ever get it? He hung himself. Understand? Huh? Do you, Kanna?"  
  
The little girl with the long white hair and pale skin winced slightly. Kagura scoffed. "See? You don't like being called your name. Neither do I. Here, it's a stigma for someone to call you your name. Especially us. Us who defended a man that eventually destroyed all these peoples' lives. Understand, little sister?"  
  
She stayed silent and focused on the ground. "But . . . but when . . . will . . . master come back . . . for us? He . . . said he . . . would."  
  
Kagura grunted. "You really are as thick headed as you look, you know that right?" She turned her gaze to the boy who was no longer panting. She kneeled down rapidly, again loosing her balance, but whisking her skirt out of the way of the ground so she could talk to him. A few others watched from their dark crevasses to see if the boy would talk.  
  
He did.  
  
~A little shy~  
  
"I was fetching some water from the top of the hill when . . . when . . ." Kagura had to lean forward to hear him, he was whispering so quietly.  
  
She blinked. "When what?"  
  
"When I saw it."  
  
. . .  
  
"Saw what, lad? What did you see?"  
  
"I saw . . . a light."  
  
!  
  
Kagura's eyes widened as some people dragged themselves toward her and her sisters' ally. "Where boy?! Where did you see this light?!"  
  
"Toward the top of the hill, at the inn."  
  
Kagura gathered every bit of strength she had left to roll out of her ally and run up the cobblestone hill.  
  
This . . . this couldn't be right . . . a light?! Here?! No. The boy must have been ly-  
  
But she was struck down on the streets. Not by force of another, but by force of a strange aura of something that allowed the cobblestones colors of their choice. Some were red, some beige, some still gray. She looked up, her eyes tearing.  
  
~And sad of eye~  
  
He was . . .  
  
He was right . . .  
  
There was a light that shown down from the heavens and seeped into the tall inn. Aiming directly as it would seem at one direct window.  
  
Kagura had never left her ally since that day. And she didn't know how long the light had been there. Others plopped themselves next to her and marveled at the phenomenon that had been absent since that fateful day.  
  
That fateful day,  
  
When the Moulin Rouge had its encore.  
  
*  
  
~But very wise, was he~  
  
The ever absent sun light seeped into the room of the writer. His black slick hair, now messy, his clothes more dirty than ever, and his violet eyes, clamped shut until now.  
  
They became victim to the wonder of the light that seemed to only appear in his room. His eyes, still half closed, blurred the shining sun. When his pupils had time to focus, he realized that the object that was illuminating was his typewriter.  
  
It . . . it was time . . .  
  
~And then one day~  
  
The writer began to rise to his feet in difficulty but eventually stood up all together.  
  
A faint voice made its way into the lad's head. A gentle female whisper. Oh how he longed for that voice for such a time! A year it had almost been! A year since the day when that voice left. The day when the gentle voice left him only to be awaited. The voice . . .  
  
Of the woman he loved.  
  
He dragged himself over to his type writer and stretched his fingers slowly, making sure the knuckles wouldn't break while writing.  
  
~One magic day, he passed my way~  
  
He began to write.  
  
~And while we spoke of many things~  
  
First his name,  
  
Miroku R. Houshi.  
  
~Fools and Kings~  
  
Then, the title.  
  
'The Moulin Rouge'  
  
~This he said to me~  
  
He licked his dry lips and began to tell the story that brought him closer and closer to his beloved.  
  
~The greatest thing you'll ever learn~  
  
This was a story about a time. A story about a place. A story about the people. But most of all,  
  
~Is just to love, and be loved in return. ~  
  
A story about love.  
  
~*~  
  
~Ria  
  
AN: I know, I know. Short. Give me a break. I'm tired and it's 7:46 in the morning right now. So, *sticks tongue out*. Anyway, for all you people who have seen the movie or read the book, expect a little bit of change. Perhaps the ending? Muahahahaha.  
  
^_^  
  
Over and out. 


	2. Our Story Begins

Disclaimer: (slc) Oh my god! Could this be true? Why, I believe so! The rabid mole who calls herself 'Ria' has finally emerged from her dark and dreary depths. Let's watch closer . . . What will she do now? Will she continue this chapter? Will she continue this story? I have no clue!!! But I do know this . . . if you want to know what that 'this' is, you must pay me five bucks. No . . . Seriously . . . I'm broke and my Japanese teacher wants us to pay her parking ticket for our bus from our field trip. And me gots no dough. Wakari? Good.  
  
The Moulin Rouge  
  
Chapter: One  
  
~Our Story Begins~  
  
{Miroku's POV}  
  
The Moulin Rouge . . .  
  
A Night club,  
  
The dance hall of the bordello.  
  
Ruled over by Tajiya Kouga.  
  
A kingdom of nightmare pleasures.  
  
Where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld.  
  
And the most beautiful of all these was the woman I loved,  
  
Sango,  
  
A courtesan.  
  
She sold her love to men.  
  
They called her, 'The Sparkling Tama', and she was the star,  
  
Of the Moulin Rouge.  
  
The woman I loved is . . .  
  
. . .  
  
Gone.  
  
. . .  
  
I first came to Paris one year ago.  
  
It was 1899, the summer of love.  
  
I knew nothing of the Moulin Rouge, Kouga, or Sango.  
  
The world had been swept up in the Bohemian revolution.  
  
And I had traveled from London to be a part of it.  
  
On a hill near Paris was the village of Mont Martre.  
  
It was not as my father had said . . .  
  
'A village of SIN!!'  
  
It was the center of the Bohemian world with musicians, painters, writers.  
  
They were known as 'Children of the Revolution'.  
  
Yes, I had come to live a penniless existence.  
  
I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom and that which I believe in above all things . . .  
  
LOVE.  
  
'Always this ridiculous obsession with love!!'  
  
There was only one problem -  
  
I'd never been in love!  
  
(Sure, I had a nasty habit of touching women on occasion . . . but nothing real!)  
  
Luckily, right at that moment an unconscious Argentinean fell through my roof.  
  
He was quickly joined by a young man dressed as a nun.  
  
{Author's POV}  
  
Miroku sat stunned at his fresh new desk and type writer, now covered in plaster and dust from the collapsed ceiling.  
  
He looked behind him at the sleeping young man who had fallen on his bed from the roof, his dusted chestnut hair tumbling about his face as he began to snore.  
  
The 'nun' stuttered when he saw the writer's exasperated expression staring up at him.  
  
"T-te-terribly s-sorry, sir!" The boy said in a high pitched squeak. His short red-haired ponytail held high behind his back. He was joined on all sides by three other men . . . some not dressed so.  
  
One of the two that had long silver hair and what seemed to be fangs, spoke out loudly.  
  
"How do you do? My name is InuYasha Sankon-Tessou Shinu Youkai. I'm terribly sorry about all this. We were just upstairs rehearsing a play!" He tried to keep a smile up but it wasn't working. He was irritated as hell.  
  
Miroku blinked. "What?"  
  
{M's POV}  
  
A Play, something very modern called, 'Spectacular, Spectacular.'  
  
"And it's set in Switzerland," InuYasha muttered mockingly, rolling his eyes.  
  
Unfortunately the unconscious Argentinean known as 'Hojo', suffered from a sickness called Narcolepsy.  
  
{A's POV}  
  
"Perfectly fine one moment then suddenly, *BAM* unconscious the next," InuYasha shouted rubbing his temples. They were all still looking at Miroku below them as the red-headed boy named Shippo went to get a ladder for Hojo to climb up on.  
  
Another of the four that were looking down on Miroku and Hojo asked the black haired male a question, "How is he?"  
  
Miroku raised an eyebrow. "And your name?"  
  
"Jaken."  
  
The writer took note that he looked somewhat like a toad . . .  
  
But it was not the time for those kind of notices.  
  
Then the other silver haired gentleman raised his very political voice. "How WONDERFUL now that Hojo's now unconscious. And therefore the scenario will not be finished in time to present to the financiers tomorrow! ARGH!" He screamed furiously.  
  
"Don't get huffy at me, Sesshomaru! You're the one who saved this goddamn thing to the last minute!" InuYasha scowled, allowing his canines to show themselves.  
  
Sesshomaru was not intimidated. He grunted softly.  
  
He had more class than to bark at his little brother.  
  
Shippo daringly stepped in to the matter with his own worries. "Um, InuYasha?"  
  
"What is it?" the silver-haired male snapped sharply.  
  
Shippo gazed at the ground. "I still have to finish the music."  
  
InuYasha's face went white. "Ooh SHIT! Now we'll never be able to fucking finish this!"  
  
"Careful, Shippo," Jaken interrupted. "You don't want to get the hanyou upset now do you?"  
  
Miroku's eyes twitched. 'A hanyou . . .' he thought.  
  
InuYasha leaned over to punch Jaken as Miroku got a brief glimse of the half demon's ears . . .  
  
His dog ears that is.  
  
He held Jaken by the collar, "You dare mock me, toad boy?!" he spat.  
  
"N-no!"  
  
InuYasha stared coldly then threw him to the ground.  
  
"At least I'm not as bad as a full demon, eh, Sesshomaru?"  
  
It took Miroku a few seconds to put two and two together.  
  
'So they're brothers . . . well, half brothers it looks like."  
  
InuYasha banged his head against the floor. "We'll just have to find someone to read the part in the mean time."  
  
Sesshomaru rolled his eyes and raised his arms. "Oh, okay. And where in all hells are we going to find someone to read the role of the, and I quote, 'young, sensitive, Swiss poet, goatherd'?"  
  
{M's POV}  
  
Before I knew it, I was upstairs standing in for the unconscious Argentinean.  
  
"The hills are animated with . . . the euphonious symphony of descant . . ." Jaken tried.  
  
"Oh stop, stop, stop that insufferable droning that's drowning out my words!" Sesshomaru screamed at Shippo. The boy staggered. "Can we please just stick to a little decorative piano?"  
  
There seemed to be artistic differences over Sesshomarus' lyrics to Shippos' songs.  
  
Jaken scratched his head. "You know . . . I don't think a nun would say that about a hill."  
  
Shippo took at shot. "What if he sings, 'the hills are vital intoning the descant'?"  
  
Jaken shook his head. "No, no, no, the hills are-"  
  
Hojo shot up from his sleep, "The hills are incarnate with symphonic melodies!" then shot back down on the bed, snoring.  
  
So, I tried my best to give it a shot.  
  
"The hills are-" Miroku struggled.  
  
"The hills are chanting?" Jaken shouted followed by Shippo.  
  
"The hill . . ."  
  
"No! The hills-"  
  
"The hills-"  
  
So, I found myself having to sing to get their attention.  
  
"~The hills are alive! With the sound of music!~"  
  
. . .  
  
Hojo shot up. "'The hills are alive with the sound of music,' I LOVE IT!" then shot back down again.  
  
Shippo gave it a rang. "The hills are alive with the sound of music." It fits perfectly!"  
  
I pushed my luck . . . and it worked.  
  
"~With songs they have sung, for a thousand years!~"  
  
They all gasped.  
  
InuYasha tapped his chin with inspired eyes. He turned around to his brother. "Remarkable! Sesshomaru, you and Miroku should write the show together!"  
  
Sesshomaru went pale. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
But InuYasha's suggestion that his older brother and I write the show together was not what Sesshomaru wanted to hear . . .  
  
"GOODBYE!!!" the demon rang through the apartment with a hole in the floorboard.  
  
{A's POV}  
  
InuYasha blinked then turned around to face Miroku. "Yes, your first job in Paris, right?"  
  
Shippo came forward from behind his piano. "No offense but have you ever written anything like this before?"  
  
The writer shifted his weight. "No . . ."  
  
"Have you ever had a job like this before?" Jaken added.  
  
"Well . . . I was a monk for a while back in London. But it ran in my family. Nothing more."  
  
By this time, Hojo had woken up and climbed the ladder into the room. He glided toward Miroku – yes – glided. "Ah! The boy has talent! I like him!" The Argentinean patted him on the back . . . but a little too low.  
  
Everyone stared at him. Hojo looked down. "Nothing funny . . . I just like talent."  
  
Miroku would have run away, but he thought he deserved a taste of his own sick medicine once in a while.  
  
InuYasha shook his head then beamed. "'The hills are alive with the sound of music.' See Shippo? With Miroku we can write this truly Bohemian Revolutionary show that we've always dreamt of!"  
  
Shippo sighed. "But how will we convince Kouga?"  
  
InuYasha shuddered at the name. As much as he wanted to get into the nightclub, he despised the wolf demon.  
  
{M's POV}  
  
But InuYasha had a plan.  
  
Shippo, Jaken and Hojo gathered around the hanyou as they whispered the name, 'Sango'.  
  
They would dress me in the Argentinean's best suit and pass me off as a famous English writer. Once Sango heard my modern poetry, she would be astounded and insist to Kouga that I write 'Spectacular, Spectacular.' The only problem was I kept hearing my father's voice in my head . . .  
  
'You'll end up wasting your life at the Moulin Rouge with a can can dancer!'  
  
"NO! I can't write the show for the Moulin Rouge!" I tried to head down the ladder steps.  
  
InuYasha ran forward. "Why not?"  
  
"I- I don't even know if I am a true Bohemian Revolutionary!"  
  
InuYasha rolled his eyes, getting ready for his persuasion act. "Do you believe in beauty?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Freedom?" Jaken yelled.  
  
"Yes, of course!"  
  
"Truth?" Shippo yelped.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"Love?" Hojo said softly.  
  
"Love?" I spilled my heart. "Love. Above all things I believe in love. Love is like oxygen. Love is a many splendid thing, love. It lifts us up where we belong, all you need is love!"  
  
InuYasha narrowed his eyes. "Well that's very nice then." He coughed. "See? You can't fool us! You're the voice of the Children of the Revolution! You will write of the world's first Bohemian Revolution show!"  
  
It was a perfect plan. I was to audition for Sango and I would taste my first glass of Absinthe.  
  
{A's POV}  
  
The hanyou, the writer, the boy, the toad, and the narcoleptic Argentinean, all of whom were drunk, sang to the point of screaming through the streets,  
  
"The hills are alive with the sound of music . . .FREEDOM, BEAUTY, TRUTH AND LOVE!!"  
  
{M's POV}  
  
We were off to the Moulin Rouge, and I was to perform my poetry for Sango.  
  
~Our Story Begins~  
  
The Moulin Rouge  
  
~Ria  
  
AN: Two notes,  
  
#1: For all you Camp Shikon fans out there, READ THE SUMMARY! I HAVE DISCONTINUED IT! Jeesh . . .  
  
#2: Very sorry if you are all confused with the thoughts and stuff. Just remember that not only am I telling the story, but Miroku's writing it. So the italics, when in his pov, is his writing. Understand? Sorry if it confuses you. And I'm going to PRAY the italics show up on the site. *prays* 


End file.
